


i am invincible, i fly, i do the magic then live the lie

by simplysweetperfection (tinydemons)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3305108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydemons/pseuds/simplysweetperfection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is screaming at you, bloody and split open.</p><p>You scream back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am invincible, i fly, i do the magic then live the lie

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [White Gold](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JccviQamCNc) by Labyrinth Ear. Unbeta'd per usual.

 

 

The first time you see the woman you will call Mother is when the sounds of violins are still echoing through the halls. There is a heavy set of red at your cheeks, fabric pinching at your waist, and she beckons for you.

 _And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,_ you think and say goodbye to your frail mortality.

 

 

Amen.

 

 

Mother is away, and you so enjoy to play.

You nip the unblemished flesh of the girl sprawled out beneath you, grinning when she rustles the sheets and moans something about indecency. She is wet against you. You break the skin at the swell of her breast, shoving the fingers still damp with the taste of her cunt into her mouth and muffling her scream.

It is 1792, Versailles, and the people chant for more blood than you can possibly swallow.

 

 

You let the man lay you down, let him spread your legs and slip inside you because you are a creature of curiosity. His stubble scratches at your cheeks and he makes stupid, nonsensical noises in the back of his throat as he ruts against you. You claw at the wings of his shoulder blades, blinking when he pulls away at the break of skin and blood at your fingertips.

He asks if you have gone mad, his hips still thrusting between your knees.

You laugh.

You do not like this man, you find, hands wrapped around his throat and the sound of bone snapping. He falls limp on top of you, still hard against your thigh, and you tear through his throat until blood paints your face and dampens the hair pooled at your pillow. The flesh of his jugular squishes between your teeth when you flip him, spitting the wad of gore onto his bare chest.

His fingers twitch against the curves of your knees, the tapping rhythm of his death against your skin as a drowned scream leaves what is left of his throat.

You come above him, fingers on yourself and iron at the back of your tongue.

You grin.

 

 

You dance until the world is spinning. You are drunk on vodka and pretty girls, wet under their skirts from the press of your knee.

You dance until the music swells to screams. You are drunk on blood and pale necks under your teeth, your brothers and sisters ripping humans open messily.

Mother finds you after your dress settles around your ankles. She paints the red of your chin across your cheeks and whispers your name.

 _Mircalla_.

The smile comes to you at the touch of her fingers. You are always the favorite to mothers, remembering the simple human woman that bore you. She had cried into the black of her handkerchief before the empty tomb that housed your name.

 _My darling_.

You are Mother's favorite, carved from glass and shattered bone carefully.

 

 

Mother feeds you slow sips of iron, fingers combing through your hair and your name sweet at her lips.

 

 

She drowns you.

 

 

The world comes back to you in an angry rumble of the gods ready to finally claim you.

Your mind explodes in light and - oh. So, this is heaven.

You can already see the bed of white where Ell lays waiting for you.

 

 

_Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven._

Ell squirms under the press of your fingers, the warm of your tongue. _Monster_ , she whispers into the pale of your breast. You swallow the word, letting it sink and settle inside of you until it is imprinted on the underside of your bones.

 _Yes_ , you say, _your monster_.

 

 

The world is screaming at you, bloody and split open.

You scream back.

 

 

East Berlin, 1963.

You are shot twice.

The communists are a bunch of pricks.

 

 

You disappear into Russia for three winters, settling under snow and ice.

Sweet wives and daughters of farmers find you in the cold, pulling you back to their warm little lives. They feed you соля́нка and do not fight when you curl around them in the night. They press their well-worn palms to the sharp of your cheek bones and ask, what happened to you красивая?

Mother is away, and you are too tired to play.

You leave them cold in their beds, empty and rotting when the snow reclaims you. 

What happened to you красивая? You don't know.

 

 

A girl giggles wetly against your mouth, high on cocaine and the stink of cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes as a second skin. 

You wonder if your old heart could bear to love again.

You snap her neck. You'd rather not find out.

 

 

_Come back_.

Brazil, 2013.

_I don't want to_ , you think of screaming, shattering your phone and tearing apart the girl twisted in your sheets.

 

 

_Okay_ , you text.

 

 

You are rage.

Mother hugs you in Austria and says your old name.

You think of cracking her spine under your fists. You think of tearing her head from her neck, of gouging through her chest until your fingers clench around the black dead thing she calls a heart. You'd pull it from her chest and lick the taste from your hands, watching as her startled eyes flutter closed.

_For Ell_ , you'd whisper.

_ For me. _

You are rage and so very bloody.

 

 

"Hell, even you deserve better."  


Do you?

_And f_ _orgive us our trespasses_ -

You can't even walk ten feet without tripping over the sin heavy on your bones.  


Do you deserve better? Laura turns back to her computer, and who is this girl?

 

 

"You're here for a reason," Mother says, your arm snapping under her grip. You do not cry out.

You have not cried out for decades.

The skin is bulged under your touch after you leave her office. It is already turning a nasty shade of red and blue by the time you're halfway across campus. You keep your arm tucked to your side and find William to help you set it again.

You don't thank him, leaving when he sneers, and you walk until the forest swallows you whole.

 

 

Who is this girl? Laura Hollis, who are you?

What is tucked in that little heart of yours? Why do you chase death? Laura, how long until you realize the world will spit back your broken bones by the time it's done with you?

Laura Hollis, do you understand? Even you deserve better. Laura Hollis, _can_ you understand?

No. You don't think you want her to.

 

 

_You're here for a reason._

You shake your head. You're really not.

 

 

You don't know if you are allowed to feel the heat rising in your chest. You think if you still had a working heart it might be dancing at your throat now, erratic and far too quick. Laura gives you a confused smile and tightens her fingers around your own when you tug her close.

You remember the harmonies of screams and your dress flared out at your knees when you twirl her.

 _My darling_.

Mother is not here to paint your skin bloody.

 

 

 _You better run Laura_ _Hollis_ , you think, _before I eat that pretty little heart of yours_.

 

 

You let the sword burn your flesh, let it hollow you from the inside out. You think if the water wasn't there, you just might burst into flames.

A burnt sacrifice to the gods above who ripped your world open.

Do you deserve better?

You are certainly fucking trying.

 

 

\- _as we forgive those who trespass against us_.

You are crying.

 _Carmilla_ , Ell whispers into the pale of your breast. She carved the dead heart from your chest centuries ago but you don't think she has it tucked away anymore. _Carmilla_ , she whispers, all light and warm on a bed of white.

 _Laura_ , you finally say, _my Laura_.

 

 

Laura smiles and kisses and, _god_ , you think she might bleed you dry.

 

 

Amen.

 

 


End file.
